Harry Potter and the Traveller
by LastOfTheWarlords
Summary: In Harry's Fifth Year, Dumbledore comes across an unexpected windfall: a wizard willing to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts. With Umbridge only in place as long as Dumbledore is unable to find a replacement, the Ministry's plans are made less effective. With an extra player, the game becomes increasingly complex. How will one more person change the course of events?


It began with the dream about the snake, Nagini. Again was the vision of the door that Harry had been dreaming of for months, again the long, dark corridor, but on this occasion a figure stood in front of the door, pacing, and on this occasion Harry felt himself rise up to strike.

Roused by a nervous Ron, and stinking of cold sweat and fear, he had been questioned by McGonagall and practically dragged from Gryffindor Tower to the statue guarding the Headmaster's office. Up the stairs, still disoriented, Harry finally burst into Dumbledore's office, prepared to finally look the Headmaster in the eye and get some answers.

But Dumbledore was not alone.

It would not have surprised Harry if Dumbledore had been awake anyway - at his desk with a bowl of lemon drops, perhaps - but to find him in conference with someone gave Harry pause. McGonagall, too, hesitated at the sight of Dumbledore's guest, but ploughed on nevertheless.

"Professor Dumbledore, there is something Mr Potter needs to discuss with you urgently," she said, making it quite clear that the mystery man was not welcome to hear about Harry's dream.

"Minerva," Dumbledore began, not looking at Harry (whose irritation and panic was growing by the second: Mr Weasley could already be dead, and the Headmaster still wouldn't look him in the eye!), "it is quite late. I am sure that Mr Potter would much prefer to rest up until morning so that he can—"

"NO!" Harry yelled quite suddenly, startling everyone, including himself. "Professor, Mr Weasley was attacked, I saw it! You need to get someone to him NOW!"

"How dare you speak to the Headmaster like that, boy?" one of the portraits asked in a high, reedy voice, apparently affronted. "You see, Albus: never allow students to think that they—"

"That will be quite enough, Phineas," Dumbledore said firmly, turning to it. "Now, could you check in at your other portrait and see to it that any members you find there make their way as soon as possible to Arthur?"

Dumbledore began a stream of commands to other portraits - securing wherever Mr Weasley was, sending him to St Mungo's - but Harry was no longer listening. His focus was now entirely on the mysterious guest of Dumbledore's, who had not moved nor spoken since he and Professor McGonagall had first barged in. Now the man was watching Harry, his expression inscrutable and eyes dark. It wasn't until after he had sent Professor McGonagall to fetch the Weasley children that Dumbledore addressed Harry.

"Harry," Dumbledore said then, and Harry turned away from his appraisal of the man, to find Dumbledore examining his hands with every sign that they were the most interesting things he had seen all evening, "could you enlighten us on how you came by this information?"

Harry paused. He did not know the man, and was unwilling to speak in front of him, but he said, "I had a dream. Only, it wasn't like a normal dream. There was this snake, sir, Voldemort's snake" (He noticed that the man didn't reacted at all to the casual mention of Voldemort's name) "and it was going, er, sliding, I suppose, along this corridor—"

"How did you see this snake? Were you above the scene, looking down?" Dumbledore asked, still fascinated by his own fingernails.

Harry frowned. "No, sir, I was the snake. I saw what it saw, I moved with it, when it went for the..." He trailed off. He didn't want to say "kill": he was desperately waiting for Dumbledore's knowledge of what had happened to Mr Weasley. "Sir, is Mr Weasley...?"

"He has been moved to St Mungo's, and is being treated," the Headmaster told his thumbs, as the door to his office opened and Ron, Ginny and the Weasley twins were herded in my McGonagall. "I am going to send you all to Grimmauld Place for the evening - start the Winter holidays early, if you will. I'm sure that there will be no objections," he said, looking at Professor McGonagall, who nodded. Harry wasn't sure if that was directed at McGonagall or Umbridge.

"I will have word sent to you there as soon as I can about your father," Dumbledore went on to the frightened Weasley clan. "I shall also inform your mother of what has happened as soon as you leave here—"

"I'll do that, if you like," the man suddenly said, and all eyes in the room were drawn suddenly to him. The Weasleys, Harry though, mustn't have seen him, for Ginny jumped back in surprise when he first spoke, and the twins whirled around, wands in hand. Dumbledore seemed surprised at his offer.

"If you could, Ulysses, I would appreciate it," the Headmaster said, and without another word, the man - Ulysses - strode to the fireplace and, seizing a handful of Floo powder and throwing it down, shouted, "THE BURROW," and was gone.

"Do not be concerned," Dumbledore said, obviously noting the suspicion on the faces of the redheads, "your mother is quite safe with Mr Mold. You will be meeting him yourselves soon, I have no doubt. Now, if you would, Mr Weasley," he handed George a rusty, battered kettle he pulled from a cupboard, "everyone grab ahold. This will take you to Grimmauld Place. _Portus_," he murmured once they - including Harry - had grabbed it.

Just as Harry felt the pull at his navel, the whirling colour and shapes of Portkey travel just beginning to rise, the Headmaster looked up and into Harry's eyes for the first time all year. But instead of feeling satisfaction at finally achieving it, just momentarily Harry felt a fierce, terrible hunger rise in him, to strike down the old Headmaster, to kill, just as he had felt in the dream less than an hour before.

Then he was pulled fully into the swirling vortex, Professor Dumbledore disappeared, and the horrible urge fled.

xxxxx

Grimmauld Place was even gloomier the following morning, with all of its inhabitants - Sirius having learnt what had happened from the portrait Dumbledore sent - anxious and afraid to hear the news of Mr Weasley that Mrs Weasley was going to bring. The portrait that Dumbledore had sent, the snide former Headmaster that Dumbledore had called Phineas, had informed them not long after they arrived that Mrs Weasley had Apparated directly to St Mungo's, and would join them as soon as she had any concrete news about Mr Weasley's fate.

Tired, unable to sleep, and boiling over with worry, Harry, Ron, Ginny, the twins and Sirius were gathered around the dining table in the kitchen, nursing cups of cocoa that Sirius had made them (someone apparently having drunk all of the butterbeer in the house, and Sirius unwilling to trust Kreacher's cooking). Not willing to dwell on the horror of the attack on their father, the Weasleys found a distraction.

"So who was that bloke in Dumbledore's office, Harry?" Ron asked, with Ginny , deathly pale and drawn, nodding vaguely beside him.

He shrugged. "I've no idea. We didn't get into introductions - I went in, told him what I'd dreamt about, and then you all came up," he told them, frowning. "He didn't say anything at all, didn't even move, until when he said that he'd go—"

"Go tell Mum about what happened to Dad," Fred finished, nodding.

"He knew the Burrow," George pointed out.

"That he did," Fred agreed, "but we've never seen him before." Neither Ginny nor Ron had seen him before, but Sirius cleared his throat.

"What did he look like, this man?" Sirius asked, cradling the warmth in his cocoa. "I know all of the Order members. I know that Remus and Mad-Eye have both just gotten back from assignments, they could've been reporting to Dumbledore—"

"No, we'd have recognised them," Harry replied tonelessly.

"Daedalus, then? Short man, big hat? Or Sturgis? Blonde hair, average height?" Sirius went on, ticking names off on his fingers. "Mundungus, Elphias Doge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, or even Aberforth, I know they've been talking again recently, he could've popped up to the castle."

"His name was Ulysses," Ginny murmured, and Fred and George smacked their foreheads simultaneously.

"Of course!" they cried, and Fred went on, "We knew it was a Greek name!"

"Ulysses isn't Greek, it's Latin," Sirius interrupted. "Made well-known by the Muggle, Tennyson's, epic poem. What?" he asked of them when they stared. "I had a classical education. Besides, my family was big on the older myths. Where do you think we got the names?"

"Never mind that, so you know him?" Ron asked eagerly.

Sirius shrugged, and the movement made him seem more gaunt, Azkaban's toll showing on his face. "Not too well. Dumbledore met him, introduced him to the Order. Ulysses Mold: an Australian-born wizard, actually. You might be seeing a lot more of him around."

"Why?" Harry frowned. "Dumbledore said the same thing."

"He's a part of the Order now, and I think Dumbledore's got plans. He's been practically bouncing since Ulysses showed up, says that things are going our way again."

"Really?" George grunted, and Harry suddenly remember why they were all gathered in the small kitchen. "Things going our way, are they?"

Sirius sighed, and bent deeper over his mug. "I'm sure your dad'll be alright, guys. We'd've heard by now if he— if something had gone wrong. He's clinging on, and St Mungo's is the best."

None of them replied, and the silence deepened.

xxxxx

Harry couldn't bear to leave, to see them all looking at him like that again. Mad-Eye's words kept following him around - he couldn't get them out of his head. "_You-Know-Who's been possessing him._" Possessing him. It made sense; he should've seen it before. Voldemort had to have been controlling the snake, and Harry just came along for the ride. The dreams, the pain in his scar, and the sudden bursts of anger or wild glee...

Voldemort was taking him over.

A knocking came at his door. It was soft, hesitant, and Harry deduced from that that it was Ginny. Ron and Sirius were too heavy-handed, the twins would just Apparate in, and Mrs Weasley just shouted through the door. "I'm fine," he called, "go away."

"Yes, you sound just peachy, Harry," came Hermione's voice. "Can I come in?"

"I'm fine," he said again, "go away."

She came in anyway, quietly sitting down next to him and waiting patiently. It didn't take long for Harry to become irritated with her, and snap, "What do you want?"

"I want you to be nice to your friends, Harry. I'm here to help," she replied, and her calm only made him more irritated.

He snorted. "You've talked to the others?" She nodded. "Then you know I'm dangerous. He could take me over any moment. They know that - they're all hiding right now in case I go mental all of a sudden!" He had become progressively louder, but bit off the final portion of his sentence, not wanting to yell again. He was yelling a lot, recently.

"They're hiding?" she replied incredulously. "They're all downstairs, waiting. It's not them who locked themselves in their rooms."

"They aren't a danger to everyone around them!" Harry snarled.

She rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, Ginny padded through the open door. She hesitated when she saw them, but carried gamely on and sat opposite Harry. After visibly screwing up her courage, she said, "Decided to stop moping, then?"

"Moping?"

"You're not a danger to anyone, Harry. We trust you!" Ginny stated, every bit as calm as Hermione. Too calm.

"Oh, really?" Harry's eyes narrowed. "Then why have you all been avoiding me? None of you have looked me in the eye since we listened to Mad-Eye!"

"It's _you_ who haven't been looking us in the eye!"

Hermione sniggered. "Maybe you've just been missing looking each other in the eye?" she suggested, her mouth curling.

Ginny snorted, but Harry's scowl deepened. "You think this is funny? I've got Voldemort - oh, get ahold of yourselves - I've got Voldemort in my head, maybe seeing everything we do, knowing about everyone I care about, and you're making stupid little jokes about HOW I'M BEING SILLY AND FOOLISH ABOUT THIS WHOLE THING? HE'S OUT THERE RIGHT NOW, HE ALMOST KILLED YOUR DAD, GINNY, AND NOW HE'S IN HERE TOO! THANKS TO ME, HE'S IN THIS ROOM TOO!"

They had paled, their smiles drained, and were now staring at him in horror.

"BUT THAT'S ALRIGHT," Harry continued, "BECAUSE YOU TRUST ME! FANTASTIC! I'LL DEFINITELY SLEEP BETTER TONIGHT KNOWING THAT YOU REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT VOLDEMORT WILL SCOOP ME OUT OF MY OWN HEAD BECAUSE I'M SO BLOODY TRUSTWORTHY!"

"Harry, I—" Ginny began, with every sign that she intended to tell him exactly what she thought of the whole situation, but she was interrupted.

"That would be ridiculous," came a voice from the door. "But I'm sure we can contrive to find some way to stop the Dark Lord from, what was it? Oh, yes, 'scooping you out of your head'."

Harry whirled around - somehow he had managed to jump to his feet while he had been shouting, he couldn't remember when. Standing in the doorway, face inscrutable, was the man, Ulysses. Sirius stood behind him, looking grim.

"Come on, ladies," Sirius said then, glancing at Harry. "Let's leave these two alone." Hermione and Ginny scurried out, and Sirius, with a final nod from Ulysses, closed the door behind him as he left.

Harry plonked himself back down on the bed and stared at the man, who wandered over to Ron's bed, made it up with a flick of his wand, and sat on the crisp bedding. Ulysses was only a young man; it showed on his face. Seventeen or eighteen, Harry would guess. Of age, but not really an adult.

He wasn't tall, but neither was he short. Short brown hair, a wry smile, and a deep scar above his left eye. He wore brown leather and tattered Muggle clothing: a shirt, waistcoat and pants, with a long coat, stained reddish towards his knees. As Ulysses toyed with his wand, Harry noticed a blue string wrapped around his right wrist, and when the Australian leaned forward, he noticed it matched his eyes.

"My name is Ulysses Mold, Mr Potter," the man said. "No doubt your Godfather has already told you about me. You seemed curious enough last night. Suspicious, even," he added with a wry grin.

"Dumbledore trusts you, so I shouldn't be," Harry replied, but there was a waver of doubt that he couldn't suppress; recently, how trustworthy had Dumbledore acted?

Ulysses Mold appeared to notice the hesitation, but did not comment. "In fact," he began, "Professor Dumbledore was the one who sent me here." As Harry became suddenly anxious for news, or words of comfort sent by Dumbledore, he continued,

"He has asked me to offer you a choice. He believes that you will profit from being taught the discipline of Occlumency - that is, the art of hiding and mastering one's thoughts. He seemed quite relieved, actually, when I informed him that I was aware of and able to teach Occlumency. And perhaps you will understand why when I tell you that asked me to give you this choice: to be taught in Occlumency by myself, or by the other member of Hogwarts Staff that knows the art, Professor Snape."

Harry recoiled.

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore did tell me that you might react in this way. So, at least one two-hour session a week, by either myself or Professor Snape. Which will it be?"

Harry didn't even hesitate. "I'll be fine with being taught by you," he replied quickly. "Sir," he added.

Ulysses Mold chuckled. "Don't call me 'sir', Mr Potter; I feel altogether too old when you do. 'Ulysses' will do."

"Then call me Harry," he replied, smiling faintly.

xxxxx

The Christmas holidays passed much more quickly after Mr Weasley returned to Grimmauld Place, apparently none the worse for his encounter with the snake - and his experimentation with 'those brilliant Muggle stitches'. He did, however, make certain to thank Harry at Christmas dinner, a gesture which, Harry felt, would have been more heartwarming had it not been for the cold dread that kept snaking down his spine at the thought of his closening contact with Voldemort's mind.

Nevertheless, for everyone else, life continued without pause. Harry, soon after his conversation with Ulysses Mold and feeling much better for the promise of learning to keep Voldemort out, went and apologised to both Ginny and Hermione, who accepted his apologies with grace.

Hermione, it seemed, did not like skiing after all, and had told her parents that she would be remaining at Hogwarts for the winter, to study up for her exams. Harry privately suspected that she did like skiing, and had only remained behind to support him, which lightened his dreary mood even more.

Harry, Hermione and the Weasley children sent the rest of the holidays, under the supervision of Mrs Weasley, cleaning Grimmauld, though Sirius at several points suggested that they simply burn it down and start over. His good humour, however, dwindled and finally vanished in the days before their departure back to Hogwarts.

"It's sad," said Hermione at one point. "He's stuck here, and the only times he enjoys himself are when you're around, Harry."

Harry made a commitment to write to Sirius more often - though with Umbridge hovering around the school, it would only get harder and harder.

Nevertheless, Sirius seemed positively doleful as he bade them farewell and Harry brooded quietly all the way back to Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron, noting his foul mood, didn't attempt to pull him from his thoughts, but spoke quietly amongst themselves, not once addressing Harry until they were all seating once more in the Great Hall.

"Harry? Harry!"

He jerked up and frowned at Hermione, who had been whispering urgently. "What?" he snapped, but she didn't answer, merely point up to the high table, where the Professors were sat. There, between Snape and Professor McGonagall, sat Ulysses Mold, making light conversation. As they watched, he told a joke, and even McGonagall chuckled. Snape did not.

"What's your new friend doing up there?" Ron asked. "He a new teacher?"

But Harry did not know, and nor could he answer, as Dumbledore stood to speak and a hush fell over the hall.

"Welcome back all," he cried, "and I hope that you all had a very enjoyable Christmas, and are ready to return to your studies!" A twinkle returned to his eyes as the hall groaned. "Now, however, before we dig in to this magnificent feast, I have a few announcements to make.

"I'm sure that most, if not all, of you have noticed that our staff's ranks have been swelled by one: may I introduce to you Professor Mold, your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor!"

At this announcement, the hall burst into mutterings and whispers, and Ron said quickly, "What, Umbridge allowed that? No wonder Siri– Snuffles said Dumbledore'd been happy since Mold turned up."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure that you will all make Professor Mold's time here as comfortable for him as possible. Now, in the meantime, Madam Umbridge has gladly stepped down from the responsibility of being our Defence professor in order to focus more thoroughly on the momentous task of being Hogwarts High Inquisitor. That having been said, let us tuck in!"

With a great scraping of forks and knives and plates, the hall began its meal, but Harry turned to Ron and Hermione. "Brilliant!" he whispered, grinning. Umbridge herself looked like a toad who had swallowed a sour fly, and was viciously stabbing at her plate with her cutlery. "No more Umbridge in classes - I wonder what Mold's going to be like?"

Ron opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it, looking worried. "Professor Dumbledore's right," she hissed. "Now that she's not teaching - if you can call it that," she conceded when Harry and Ron snorted, "she's going to have more time to make Hogwarts into a Ministry school. And she's not going to be happy about having been shoved aside."

Neither Harry nor Ron could think of anything to say to that, so a foreboding silence settled over them.

xxxxx

It was at breakfast the following morning, before they had even been to their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class, when a note, fluttering through the Great Hall like a butterfly, landed in front of Harry. With all the morning post arriving, nobody apparently noticed it, save Harry, Ron and Hermione.

"Whatever could that be?" Hermione asked, daintily spreading jam on her toast.

Harry shrugged, but opening it read it out to them. "_Mr Potter_," he read, "_Our lessons in Occlumency shall begin this evening. I shall await you in my classroom after dinner. Yours, Ulysses Mold_."

"Weird," Ron said.

Hermione snorted. "I'm very pleased that you're doing this, Harry," she told him, and he could only nod. The dreams about the long dark corridor had been persisting, and now he even occasionally broke through to the room beyond, a circular hub of identical doors.

"When've we got him?" Harry asked then. "I wonder what he's going to be like."

"Better than Umbridge," Ron said.

Hermione leaned forwards, and whispered, "Speaking of that, what are we going to do about the DA? Now that we're being taught by a proper Professor..."

"We'll see what he's like first," Harry decided eventually, after thinking it over. "And maybe keep going with it anyway," he added, thinking of more chances of seeing Cho.

Hermione must have known what he was thinking about, because she smirked knowingly.

xxxxx

"Now," Professor Mold began, "I have heard many stories about your rather hodgepodge education in this field over the last few years. I have also heard many things about more recent Professors and their idea of what teaching should be like..." At this point, Harry was sure, Ulysses Mold was talking as much about Umbridge as he was about Moody's imposter or Lockhart's pantomimes. "As spotty as your learning has been, however, I shall continue to teach what you are expected to know for your OWLs at the end of your school year, not rehash things that you should already know.

"First of all," he flicked his wand at the nearest textbook - Dean Thomas' - and it floated over to him, "I'm setting an assignment to be completed by the end of this lesson." He held his hand to stop the sudden swell of complains and groans, and continued, "Destroy your copies of this ridiculous book. In a safe manner," he snapped, seeing looks of excitement on students' faces. "It is a farce of a textbook and we shall not be using it any more. You may keep it if you wish, but we will no longer be using it, and it does not serve any purpose apart from as a substitute for sleeping draught."

As the class tittered, Sean Finnegan raised his hand.

"Yes, Mr... Finnegan?" Professor Mold asked.

"Well, sir," Sean said, "I've just noticed that it's the right thickness to keep my dresser from wobbling. Can I keep it?"

"Five points to Gryffindor, Mr Finnegan, for inventive thinking," Professor Mold exclaimed, grinning. The Slytherins scowled.

That first Defence lesson had them learning the applications of the _Diffindo_ hex - something that Harry noticed that he had already covered in the DA. While not as many members had mastered it, or were even using it to a level he'd expect, they were doing significantly better than the non-DAs. By the time class was finished, and Professor Mold had set a parchment on the uses of spells derived from _Diffindo_, Harry was grinning with satisfaction.

They did not see Umbridge all day - no sight of pink bow ties or sound of that high, girlish giggle at all - and it came as an immense relief. Though the educational decrees were still in force, and Umbridge was still the High Inquisitor, it seemed that without direct contact, her plans were severely limited. Indeed, without Umbridge poking and prodding at him, and without the testing of his patience and the constant claims of his impending mental breakdown, Harry could endure Snape's criticisms with a calm, optimistic air. This seemed to confuse Snape, who managed to deduct nearly forty points from Gryffindor in one lesson, due entirely, it seemed, to his frustration at not receiving a reaction.

While the other Gryffindors were not happy about the points reduction, Harry barely noticed at all, and by the time dinner rolled around, he was even looking forward to his impending meeting with Professor Mold, though he had no idea of what was to await him.

Dinner was the most cheerful, for them, since the start of the year, and Ron and Hermione too seemed a little taken aback by his openness and grinning countenance. As it was, Harry seemed to almost forget his problems without Umbridge, and they took the opportunity to relax gladly.

After dinner, Harry headed to Professor Mold's classroom, while the others went to the common room. When he arrived at the classroom, however, he found the door unlocked and the classroom dimmed, with only a pale, wavering flame illuminating a chest placed where the Professor's desk usually sat.

With each new Defence Professor, Harry noticed, the classroom itself changed. Under Lockhart, it had been covered in paintings of himself; under Lupin, examples of Dark creatures littered the room; under Moody (that is, Moody's imposter), an impressive array of security devices. Under Dolores Umbridge, the classroom had been as drab and boring as her curriculum, but no more. Professor Mold's changes had been taking root all day, and now they flourished.

On the walls, tall stone trees reached up to the ceiling, where they branched and spun around each other. Where that morning they had been leafless saplings, barely noticeable, now their boughs were heavy with shining leaves of gold and silver. Up and down their trunks were runes carved deeply into the stone, interweaving and meshing until unreadable yet curiously familiar. In the high branches, lanterns glowing blue - much like the blue flames that Hermione had been conjuring since first year - hung and spun about one another, and now, it seemed, Ulysses Mold had released many small birds, that fluttered above. To top it all off, as much of the ceiling as could be seen was enchanted like the Great Hall's, to look like the sky outside.

However, the lanterns were dim, the birds only rustled, and the tops of the trees were dark. Only one lantern, hovering above the chest, drew Harry's eye, and he inched towards it. However, between footsteps the door slammed shut behind him, the chest opened, and the world grew suddenly cold as a shadow rose from the chest.

Harry recognised it immediately. Thinking of Umbridge's expression at dinner the night before, he raised his wand. "_Expecto Patronum_!" he cried, and out roared the great silvery stag, which charged without hesitation. The Dementor, however, stumbled over the hem of its cloak as the stag galloped, and Harry realised what it was. "_Riddikulus_!" he shouted then, and its cloak turned pink, a bow appeared on its head, and it shrank considerably.

"It was a test, then?" he asked of the classroom, as the boggart began to flail around.

"Everything is a test, Mr Potter," came the reply, as Ulysses Mold waved his wand and the room brightened.

"Was it an important test?"

"Every test is important, Mr Potter," Ulysses Mold murmured, as he banished the boggart back into the chest and tidied it away. "However, in this occasion, it was not a test for marking, but a test to see how we should go about your lessons. Dementors, eh?"

Harry knew he was asking why Dementors were his worst fears, and shrugged. Memories of the start of the year, but more especially of his third year, by the lake with Sirius, stirred. Thinking about it, though, he was mildly surprised that it did not turn into Voldemort, red-eyed and reborn, rising from the cauldron in the graveyard. "They bring out the worst in me," he eventually replied.

"Fear does," Ulysses sighed, frowning. "Now, take a seat and we shall begin your Occlumency lessons. Firstly, can you explain to me what you wish to achieve from learning Occlumency?"

Harry's brow wrinkled. "Hasn't Professor Dumbledore told—"

"I do not ask for my benefit, Mr Potter, but in order to begin to order your thoughts. Please answer the question," Professor Mold said.

"I suppose," Harry coughed, "I want to keep Voldemort out of my head."

Ulysses nodded. "Yes, you want to stop him from, what was it? scooping you out of your own head?" When Harry agreed, he continued, "Well, there is a branch of magic that could allow him to do just that. Minds magics are an old, and very powerful and subtle, branch, though a branch which takes extraordinary power and skill. I have it on good authority that the Dark Lord amused himself during the last war by driving people - quite literally - out of their own minds. By these magics, he can read one's thoughts, see one's memories, and weed out every secret ever worth hiding."

Harry's throat had dried, and his heart was in his mouth. "Voldemort can read my memories too?"

Ulysses shrugged. "That may very well depend. Usually, to read more than the surface emotions, it takes eye contact and a spell. Depending on the power of the reader, the spell can be non-verbal, maybe even wandless, but eye contact is _essential_. They are the windows to the soul, after all."

"But he can apparently get into my head without eye contact," Harry objected.

"Quite true," Ulysses nodded, and Harry was taken aback by the casual agreement that Voldemort had unrivalled access to his thoughts. "However," he continued, "it seems that he cannot control you; it takes too much power. There is a connection between you two, something of unknown power or origin, which allows this mind sharing to continue, but it does not break the barrier entirely. I believe that proximity will make it easier, though I'm not sure that we wish to test this theory. Occlumency will shadow your thoughts, it will hide the shape of your mind from him."

"How does it work?" Harry asked.

Professor Mold drew his wand - a long, pale wand that reminded Harry of the yew wand that was brother to his own - and formed an illusion between them. It appeared to be a spherical bubble, though insubstantial, and it was tinged with red. Heat appeared to be radiating off of it, though Harry could not have said why he thought that - it did not give heat at all. "Anger," Ulysses told him, waving his wand. When the bubble turned deep navy blue and cold, he said, "Sadness." Again and again the bubble changed, though envy, greed, happiness, lust, contempt, nervousness and finally...

"Basic," Professor Mold murmured. The bubble was the colour of cream, and wavered only slightly. It felt like it was room temperature. "This is not an emotion. Emotion takes energy, and we humans are far too lazy to feel all the time. Most of the time, we float around in 'basic', feeling only when we are presented with something that elicits a response."

Harry nodded, watching it.

"Occlumency strives to make your mind 'basic' at all times. It tries to - not hide your thoughts, that's the wrong word, but make them insignificant. Like writing that's too boring, too illegible, or too small to read properly, so that one doesn't feel the need to read it at all. For the more skilful, Occlumency can mimic emotions to be more convincing, but this 'basic' skill is what we will be working on for now. So, as homework, I just want you to become aware of your emotions; when they are strong, and when they are 'basic'. Once you achieve this, try to bring your 'basic' back when you are feeling strongly about something. That will be all, Mr Potter. Good luck, and good night."

As Harry turned to leave, frowning in thought, Ulysses Mold added, "Oh, and your Godfather has asked me to keep an eye on you. He says 'Stay out of trouble'."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry replied, and smiled.

xxxxx

He had returned to the Gryffindor dorms in a good mood, and had fallen asleep quite content with the world after the good day. But when he awoke the following morning, shaking and sweating with echoes of dark corridors and shifting doors, his good mood had vanished. It vanished even more when, at breakfast, instead of the usual owl post, a tiny pink slip materialised in front of him. He did not have to look up to the high table to figure out who had sent it; just looking at the writing made the back of his hand itch painfully.

In neat, girly writing was the words '_See me after breakfast, second office, third floor_'.

Ron and Hermione did not comment, but suddenly the sunshine of the day before was broken, and things seemed back to normal in a horrible way. Unable to stomach any more food, he pushed his plate away without a word and left the Hall. Just as he turned to climb the shifting stairwells, though, a figure caught his eye as it perused the Educational Decrees.

"Hi Luna," he said - vaguely hoping that she had some good news for him; nargles had been spotted in Umbridge's new office, or she finally had proof of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks.

But Luna merely smiled in her thoughtful way. "Hello, Harry. How are you?"

"Spectacular," he replied dryly. "Umbridge's just asked me to pop by her office; probably misses me."

"That could be so," Luna acknowledged. "You are a likeable person. I do miss you from our DA meetings."

_That_ made him smile. "Thanks, Luna. I miss you too. How are you?"

"Perfectly splendid," she replied. "I quite like Professor Mold. He said that he enjoyed the crossword in daddy's newspaper."

"Well, that makes him okay in my books too," Harry grinned. "Listen, do you—?"

"Hem, hem," came the voice of Professor Umbridge. "Good morning, Mr Potter, I hope that you are hurrying to our appointment?"

But before Harry could reply - he was on the brink of snapping at her - Luna piped up. "Good morning, Madam Umbridge," she smiled.

Umbridge's eyes, however, narrowed dangerously. "You will refer to me as Professor, Miss—"

"Lovegood," Luna said dreamily. "But you are a 'madam'. Professor Dumbledore said you were last night. And you aren't teaching, so why would you be a Professor, madam?"

Harry was staring at Luna with something akin to awe. He'd never heard her stand up to anyone beyond reproachful comments to those who questioned the Quibbler's honour, and she was doing so apparently without meaning to.

Umbridge, however, was swelling dangerously. "Detention, Miss Lovegood," she fluttered, sounding higher and girlier by the second. "Tonight, in my office."

Harry glanced down at the scars on his wrist and prepared to do something, anything, to get Luna out of it, but she beat him to it. "But detentions need to be supervised by a Professor, madam," she smiled, her protuberant eyes blinking innocently.

Harry could not have expressed his admiration then for all the Galleons in Gringotts. Luna had not finished, though, and waved cheerily to someone behind Umbridge. "Good morning, Professor!" she exclaimed happily. "Madam Umbridge was looking for someone to send me to detention with! Would you be willing?"

Harry did not need to turn around; he recognised the crisp step, and with every fibre of his being tried to squash the smile that was struggling to his lips.

"Why, of course I would be willing, Dolores," Professor McGonagall nodded. "You need only ask. What is it that Miss Lovegood is being sent to detention for, may I ask?"

"Why, disrespectful conduct, Minerva," Umbridge giggled, fuming.

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Well, no matter - I shall handle the matter from here, fear not. Good morning to you, good morning, Mr Potter," she greeted him, and Harry saw clearly in her expression the message, '_Watch and learn, Mr Potter. _That_ is how one stands up to Dolores Umbridge._'

She swept away without another word, Luna skipping happily in her wake.

Umbridge watched them go with a strained smile, before turning to him. "Well, Mr Potter, shall we go up to my office, then?"

As she turned to go, he replied with as straight a face as he could manage, "Of course, madam."


End file.
